Bad writing = Bad writer?
Jul. 25th, 2018 11:22 pmI wrote a thing today that I did not like, but I posted it to the blog anyway.
Why? Because it's been two weeks since I posted anything to the blog and I felt like I had to do it.
Also, while writing the thing, my MS Word froze up on me. I'm not sure why. I suspect the file might be getting too big. I think I may have to open a second file for the stuff I've been working on.
But, that's all besides the point. The point is that I wrote something I didn't like, but posted it anyway and now I regret it. But it's out there, warts and all, and I'm not pulling it back.
I am not George Lucas. I do not try to improve upon something that I've already finished.
That way lies nothing but madness.
Still, I really didn't like what I wrote.
:(
Why? Because it's been two weeks since I posted anything to the blog and I felt like I had to do it.
Also, while writing the thing, my MS Word froze up on me. I'm not sure why. I suspect the file might be getting too big. I think I may have to open a second file for the stuff I've been working on.
But, that's all besides the point. The point is that I wrote something I didn't like, but posted it anyway and now I regret it. But it's out there, warts and all, and I'm not pulling it back.
I am not George Lucas. I do not try to improve upon something that I've already finished.
That way lies nothing but madness.
Still, I really didn't like what I wrote.
:(
Strange Visitor - Part 2
Feb. 15th, 2018 11:32 pmGotham City was a hell of neon lights and smog. Jones stood at his hotel window, staring through the glass at the street. He could see cars creeping along and pedestrians on the street, many of them wearing what appeared to be gas masks. He shook his head and pulled the curtains closed, returned to the bed. The television was on, but muted, tuned to a news channel. A man with a bad spray tan and a worse toupe was commenting on some kind of military incident in Eastern Europe. The ticker tape at the bottom of the screen read: Russian troops massing on Markovian border.
Jones flipped through the channels until he found a local station. They were showing a sit-com that looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember the name. He left it there and reached for the wallet the Flash had given him.
Batman had provided him with a driver's license, a debit card and about a hundred bucks in cash. The money didn't look quite right to Jones. The bills came in different shades of green, with higher denominations being paler. At least the faces on the money were identical to cash back home.
The Flash and Batman had dumped him here while they figured out something longterm. Jones wasn't sure what that meant, but he was glad to be out of STAR Labs. The scientist who had examined him, Professor Palmer, had been a little creepy.
The Flash had said she would check up on him tomorrow. Batman had just said he'd keep an eye on him and that he'd be in touch.
The hotel room was paid for through the week, and there was about a thousand on the debit card. The driver's license looked like the real thing, but Batman had warned him not to get arrested. He'd put together the identity on short notice and until he could firm it up, it probably wouldn't stand up to closer scrutiny.
Jones had no intention of getting arrested. He wasn't sure he wanted to leave the hotel room. Gotham City was scary as hell, by night. He couldn't imagine it being much better during the day.
On the television, the sit-com gave way to the local news.
Markovia was the lead story, followed by coverage of something called the War of Faces. Apparently, Clayface and Two-Face were trying to kill each other and each had recruited a bunch of local villains to their respective sides.
Crazy, thought Jones, and turned off the television. He switched off the lights, stripped to his shorts and crawled beneath the bedclothes.
He felt far from home and he was beginning to suspect that he was deeply out of his depth.
* * * * *
Byron Wayne didn't bother trying to be stealthy as he entered his bedroom, halfway across Gotham. He knew better than to even try.
"You're home early," said Georgina. She was sitting up in bed, glasses resting on the tip of her nose, a copy of Dostoyevski's 'The Idiot' in her lap. "I thought you'd be out for hours still, trying to track down the faces."
Byron slid into bed. "The police can handle that for the moment. Something else came up."
"What?" asked Georgina. She put her book on the bedside table and turned off the lamp.
He told her about Jones. She listened without asking any questions, but Byron knew her mind was awhirl with thoughts. He could tell by the slightly unfocused look in her eyes.
"You think he could be a danger," said Georgina.
"I think it's best to plan for the worse," said Byron.
"Of course," agreed Georgina. "That makes sense. But maybe you should ask the princess to speak with him."
"I'm considering it," admitted Byron. "I'd rather handle this on my own. Bad enough the Flash is involved."
"You don't live in a vacuum, darling," said Georgina. She slid closer to him, lay her head on his chest. "And there's no shame in letting the rest of the League shoulder some of the burden."
Byron grunted, but said nothing.
They fell asleep like that, Georgina's head on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her.
* * * * *
The Tower occupied a lonely stretch of Maine coastline, close to the Canadian border. Officially, it was a decommissioned lighthouse, purchased and refurbished by Orion Luthor as an exotic retreat. Unofficially, it was the headquarters of the Justice League.
The Flash stepped into the Tower and waited, impatiently, for the security system to authenticate her identity. Once she had been given the green light, she raced down the stairs to the command center. At the moment, Green Arrow was on monitor duty. He was sitting with his feet up on the console, hands folded over his stomach, eyes closed to narrow slits.
"Hey! No catnapping on duty!" chided the Flash.
Green Arrow didn't move at all, as he said, "I'm not asleep."
"Could have fooled me," said the Flash. She leaned against the console. "Anything going on?"
"Nothing. Keeping an eye on Markovia, but that's it."
"You think the Russians will invade?" asked the Flash.
"If they do, they'll regret it. The Markovian Royals will kick their asses back to Moscow."
"You think?"
Green Arrow opened his eyes and snorted. "Yeah. All that?" He waved at the news screens. "It's just a show."
"I hope you're right," said the Flash.
"What about you?" asked Green Arrow. He lowered his feet and stretched. "What have you been up to tonight?"
"I met a man from another universe," said the Flash.
"Really? Tell me everything."
She did.
"And Batman's got him staying in Gotham?" asked Green Arrow.
"He insisted. You know how he is."
Green Arrow nodded. "What do you think he's going to do with him? Longterm, I mean."
"I don't know," admitted the Flash.
"You think Jones is on the up-and-up?"
"I think so. The Bat's probably thinking up a dozen ways to find out for sure."
"He should talk to the princess. Get her to do her lasso thing."
"If he does want to do that, you can go with him. Not me."
"You afraid of her?" asked Green Arrow, grinning.
"She gives me the creeps," admitted the Flash. "I can't stand that cult of hers."
"I don't know if it's a cult. . . ."
"It's a cult," said the Flash, firmly. "Trust me."
Green Arrow shrugged. "Whatever. You wanna hang out?"
"I should get home. I've got work tomorrow and I promised Jones I'd check up on him."
"Hmm. Tell the Bat if he wants to visit the princess, I'll go with him."
"Sure," said the Flash. "Later."
She was gone before Green Arrow could draw breath to say goodbye. He shrugged again and resumed his original position, feet on the console, eyes half-closed.
Jones flipped through the channels until he found a local station. They were showing a sit-com that looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember the name. He left it there and reached for the wallet the Flash had given him.
Batman had provided him with a driver's license, a debit card and about a hundred bucks in cash. The money didn't look quite right to Jones. The bills came in different shades of green, with higher denominations being paler. At least the faces on the money were identical to cash back home.
The Flash and Batman had dumped him here while they figured out something longterm. Jones wasn't sure what that meant, but he was glad to be out of STAR Labs. The scientist who had examined him, Professor Palmer, had been a little creepy.
The Flash had said she would check up on him tomorrow. Batman had just said he'd keep an eye on him and that he'd be in touch.
The hotel room was paid for through the week, and there was about a thousand on the debit card. The driver's license looked like the real thing, but Batman had warned him not to get arrested. He'd put together the identity on short notice and until he could firm it up, it probably wouldn't stand up to closer scrutiny.
Jones had no intention of getting arrested. He wasn't sure he wanted to leave the hotel room. Gotham City was scary as hell, by night. He couldn't imagine it being much better during the day.
On the television, the sit-com gave way to the local news.
Markovia was the lead story, followed by coverage of something called the War of Faces. Apparently, Clayface and Two-Face were trying to kill each other and each had recruited a bunch of local villains to their respective sides.
Crazy, thought Jones, and turned off the television. He switched off the lights, stripped to his shorts and crawled beneath the bedclothes.
He felt far from home and he was beginning to suspect that he was deeply out of his depth.
* * * * *
Byron Wayne didn't bother trying to be stealthy as he entered his bedroom, halfway across Gotham. He knew better than to even try.
"You're home early," said Georgina. She was sitting up in bed, glasses resting on the tip of her nose, a copy of Dostoyevski's 'The Idiot' in her lap. "I thought you'd be out for hours still, trying to track down the faces."
Byron slid into bed. "The police can handle that for the moment. Something else came up."
"What?" asked Georgina. She put her book on the bedside table and turned off the lamp.
He told her about Jones. She listened without asking any questions, but Byron knew her mind was awhirl with thoughts. He could tell by the slightly unfocused look in her eyes.
"You think he could be a danger," said Georgina.
"I think it's best to plan for the worse," said Byron.
"Of course," agreed Georgina. "That makes sense. But maybe you should ask the princess to speak with him."
"I'm considering it," admitted Byron. "I'd rather handle this on my own. Bad enough the Flash is involved."
"You don't live in a vacuum, darling," said Georgina. She slid closer to him, lay her head on his chest. "And there's no shame in letting the rest of the League shoulder some of the burden."
Byron grunted, but said nothing.
They fell asleep like that, Georgina's head on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her.
* * * * *
The Tower occupied a lonely stretch of Maine coastline, close to the Canadian border. Officially, it was a decommissioned lighthouse, purchased and refurbished by Orion Luthor as an exotic retreat. Unofficially, it was the headquarters of the Justice League.
The Flash stepped into the Tower and waited, impatiently, for the security system to authenticate her identity. Once she had been given the green light, she raced down the stairs to the command center. At the moment, Green Arrow was on monitor duty. He was sitting with his feet up on the console, hands folded over his stomach, eyes closed to narrow slits.
"Hey! No catnapping on duty!" chided the Flash.
Green Arrow didn't move at all, as he said, "I'm not asleep."
"Could have fooled me," said the Flash. She leaned against the console. "Anything going on?"
"Nothing. Keeping an eye on Markovia, but that's it."
"You think the Russians will invade?" asked the Flash.
"If they do, they'll regret it. The Markovian Royals will kick their asses back to Moscow."
"You think?"
Green Arrow opened his eyes and snorted. "Yeah. All that?" He waved at the news screens. "It's just a show."
"I hope you're right," said the Flash.
"What about you?" asked Green Arrow. He lowered his feet and stretched. "What have you been up to tonight?"
"I met a man from another universe," said the Flash.
"Really? Tell me everything."
She did.
"And Batman's got him staying in Gotham?" asked Green Arrow.
"He insisted. You know how he is."
Green Arrow nodded. "What do you think he's going to do with him? Longterm, I mean."
"I don't know," admitted the Flash.
"You think Jones is on the up-and-up?"
"I think so. The Bat's probably thinking up a dozen ways to find out for sure."
"He should talk to the princess. Get her to do her lasso thing."
"If he does want to do that, you can go with him. Not me."
"You afraid of her?" asked Green Arrow, grinning.
"She gives me the creeps," admitted the Flash. "I can't stand that cult of hers."
"I don't know if it's a cult. . . ."
"It's a cult," said the Flash, firmly. "Trust me."
Green Arrow shrugged. "Whatever. You wanna hang out?"
"I should get home. I've got work tomorrow and I promised Jones I'd check up on him."
"Hmm. Tell the Bat if he wants to visit the princess, I'll go with him."
"Sure," said the Flash. "Later."
She was gone before Green Arrow could draw breath to say goodbye. He shrugged again and resumed his original position, feet on the console, eyes half-closed.
Strange Visitor - Part 1
Feb. 15th, 2018 07:59 pm"I don't remember much after the Crisis. Just the White Room and the Powers looking down on me and making amends."
"Making amends for what?" asked Batman.
"Not being able to put me back where I belonged. When they rebuilt the universe there were a couple of minor differences. Nothing major. Just certain things happened in a different way. Like my parents never having another child after my sister."
"So you were never born," said the Flash. "And your existence would have caused a paradox."
"Yeah. But I survived, somehow, and was thrown outside of time and space. They could have left me there, but they decided to be magnanimous."
"And they sent you here," said Batman.
"Yeah."
"Why?" asked the Dark Knight.
"They said it would be familiar to me."
"Is it?" asked the Flash. "Are we?"
"Yeah. Although the Flash I'm familiar with wasn't a woman and Batman wasn't black."
Batman grunted. The Flash looked vaguely amused.
"Now that these . . . Powers, have dumped you on us, what are we supposed to do with you?" asked Batman.
"I don't know, but I'd appreciate it if it didn't involve exploratory surgery or anything."
The Flash laughed. "We wouldn't do that. This isn't The X-Files."
"Cool. You guys have The X-Files here?"
"They've been on air for almost twenty-five years," said the Flash.
"If we can get back to the matter at hand," said Batman, gruffly. "We'll need to confirm your story, Mr. Jones."
"How?" asked the Flash.
"STAR Labs," said Batman. "They owe us after that mess with Will Magnus and his Metal Men."
He turned on his heel and marched toward the Batjet.
The Flash and Jones looked at one another, shrugged, and hurried to catch up with him.
* * * * *
"Well," said Professor Francine "Frankie" Palmer, "he's certainly not from this universe."
Batman's mouth tightened. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," said Frankie. "Everything in our universe resonates at the same quantum frequency. Your new friend doesn't."
"He's not a friend," said Batman. "He's an unknown."
Frankie shrugged. "Whatever he is, he isn't from our universe. That would suggest his story has elements of truth to it."
"I sense a 'but' coming up," said the Flash.
"But," said Frankie, "he's not baseline human either."
"He's a meta?" asked Batman.
"Hard to say," admitted Frankie. "His genetics are almost a hundred percent identical to ours, but there are differences. If he was from our world, I'd say he was a meta. Since he isn't, I don't know if what we've detected is normal for him or a reaction to being in a different environment."
"What have you detected?" asked the Flash. As a scientist herself, her curiosity was piqued.
"He's stronger and tougher than your average human and, I'm not sure, but I think he might have some kind of regenerative ability."
"Did you ask him about it?" asked Batman.
"No," said Frankie. "I thought you'd want to know first, Batsy."
Batman scowled. "Don't call me that."
"Sorry," said Frankie. "Old habits die hard."
"So parts of his story check out," said the Flash. She looked at Batman. "What do we do now?"
"If you want, you could leave him here," said Frankie. "I'd love to do more tests. Maybe some exploratory surgery. . . ."
The Flash grimaced. "I don't think so, Frankie."
The professor's face fell.
"We'll take him with us," said Batman. "Keep him close, so we can keep an eye on him. If he's a threat, we'll deal with him."
"And if he's not a threat?" asked the Flash. "If he is a cosmic refugee?"
Batman said nothing, but from the way his mouth hardened, the Flash was sure he didn't believe that possibility for a moment.
"Making amends for what?" asked Batman.
"Not being able to put me back where I belonged. When they rebuilt the universe there were a couple of minor differences. Nothing major. Just certain things happened in a different way. Like my parents never having another child after my sister."
"So you were never born," said the Flash. "And your existence would have caused a paradox."
"Yeah. But I survived, somehow, and was thrown outside of time and space. They could have left me there, but they decided to be magnanimous."
"And they sent you here," said Batman.
"Yeah."
"Why?" asked the Dark Knight.
"They said it would be familiar to me."
"Is it?" asked the Flash. "Are we?"
"Yeah. Although the Flash I'm familiar with wasn't a woman and Batman wasn't black."
Batman grunted. The Flash looked vaguely amused.
"Now that these . . . Powers, have dumped you on us, what are we supposed to do with you?" asked Batman.
"I don't know, but I'd appreciate it if it didn't involve exploratory surgery or anything."
The Flash laughed. "We wouldn't do that. This isn't The X-Files."
"Cool. You guys have The X-Files here?"
"They've been on air for almost twenty-five years," said the Flash.
"If we can get back to the matter at hand," said Batman, gruffly. "We'll need to confirm your story, Mr. Jones."
"How?" asked the Flash.
"STAR Labs," said Batman. "They owe us after that mess with Will Magnus and his Metal Men."
He turned on his heel and marched toward the Batjet.
The Flash and Jones looked at one another, shrugged, and hurried to catch up with him.
* * * * *
"Well," said Professor Francine "Frankie" Palmer, "he's certainly not from this universe."
Batman's mouth tightened. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," said Frankie. "Everything in our universe resonates at the same quantum frequency. Your new friend doesn't."
"He's not a friend," said Batman. "He's an unknown."
Frankie shrugged. "Whatever he is, he isn't from our universe. That would suggest his story has elements of truth to it."
"I sense a 'but' coming up," said the Flash.
"But," said Frankie, "he's not baseline human either."
"He's a meta?" asked Batman.
"Hard to say," admitted Frankie. "His genetics are almost a hundred percent identical to ours, but there are differences. If he was from our world, I'd say he was a meta. Since he isn't, I don't know if what we've detected is normal for him or a reaction to being in a different environment."
"What have you detected?" asked the Flash. As a scientist herself, her curiosity was piqued.
"He's stronger and tougher than your average human and, I'm not sure, but I think he might have some kind of regenerative ability."
"Did you ask him about it?" asked Batman.
"No," said Frankie. "I thought you'd want to know first, Batsy."
Batman scowled. "Don't call me that."
"Sorry," said Frankie. "Old habits die hard."
"So parts of his story check out," said the Flash. She looked at Batman. "What do we do now?"
"If you want, you could leave him here," said Frankie. "I'd love to do more tests. Maybe some exploratory surgery. . . ."
The Flash grimaced. "I don't think so, Frankie."
The professor's face fell.
"We'll take him with us," said Batman. "Keep him close, so we can keep an eye on him. If he's a threat, we'll deal with him."
"And if he's not a threat?" asked the Flash. "If he is a cosmic refugee?"
Batman said nothing, but from the way his mouth hardened, the Flash was sure he didn't believe that possibility for a moment.
Falling into Wonderland
Jun. 19th, 2017 03:41 amStanding in the crowd,
listening to the band,
this is youth, this is life,
this is wonderland.
Sliding down the rabbit hole,
riding crystal trails,
wondering where we’ll end up,
and whether we will fail.
Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.
The crystal cracks,
we all go splat,
the world so gigantic,
now seems small.
So take a hit
from the hookah pipe,
and rest beneath a mushroom sky,
and watch your life become a lie.
Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.
The smoke clears, we prick our ears,
we wait and watch and learn,
this life’s a dream, or so it seems,
a lesson we never learn.
The white rabbit runs,
our end’s begun,
the world returns again.
Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.
The crowd is gone.
The band is done.
We stand still,
while the rabbit runs.
We never found the Queen of Hearts,
just a lot of bitter tarts,
and youth is gone, spent and torn,
and from the ruins a man is born.
Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.
listening to the band,
this is youth, this is life,
this is wonderland.
Sliding down the rabbit hole,
riding crystal trails,
wondering where we’ll end up,
and whether we will fail.
Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.
The crystal cracks,
we all go splat,
the world so gigantic,
now seems small.
So take a hit
from the hookah pipe,
and rest beneath a mushroom sky,
and watch your life become a lie.
Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.
The smoke clears, we prick our ears,
we wait and watch and learn,
this life’s a dream, or so it seems,
a lesson we never learn.
The white rabbit runs,
our end’s begun,
the world returns again.
Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.
The crowd is gone.
The band is done.
We stand still,
while the rabbit runs.
We never found the Queen of Hearts,
just a lot of bitter tarts,
and youth is gone, spent and torn,
and from the ruins a man is born.
Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.
(no subject)
May. 30th, 2017 05:00 pmI feel today has been a productive day for yours truly. I got up early, paid some bills which crept up on me, went to the movies, did some shopping and am now at home doing laundry.
Supper tonight will be sausage sautéed in butter with green beans, sweet peppers, diced tomatoes and a little bit of lime. It will be seasoned to taste with chili powder and pepper. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.
Also, there will be writing.
Supper tonight will be sausage sautéed in butter with green beans, sweet peppers, diced tomatoes and a little bit of lime. It will be seasoned to taste with chili powder and pepper. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.
Also, there will be writing.
A Glimpse of Light
Feb. 18th, 2017 04:22 pmThe sun does not shine past the trees.
The ground is dark, the domain of night.
And we stand in that darkness, looking up,
hungry for a glimpse of light.
Light that never comes, until the wind blows.
Branches sway and bend, and the long night gives way
to an oh too brief dawn.
Then the wind moves on, the branches grow still.
Endless night returns and we return to our vigil,
waiting for a glimpse of light.
The ground is dark, the domain of night.
And we stand in that darkness, looking up,
hungry for a glimpse of light.
Light that never comes, until the wind blows.
Branches sway and bend, and the long night gives way
to an oh too brief dawn.
Then the wind moves on, the branches grow still.
Endless night returns and we return to our vigil,
waiting for a glimpse of light.
(no subject)
Dec. 10th, 2016 11:38 pmSo, the job at the Comic/Smoke Shop did not work out.
The owner decided to hire someone with more managerial experience. Eh. No hard feelings.
To be perfectly honest, I didn't really want to work there.
Sure, it would have been great to work in a comic shop, but I wasn't thrilled at the idea of working in a place that sells bongs. You can call them 'glass' or 'art' all you want, but we all know that you're selling bongs. And I . . . am too straight edged to work in such a place, I think.
So, that didn't happen.
I did have an interview at this insurance place last Monday. I think it went well. I was interviewed by two of the managers at their Customer Service Center. We spoke for about 40 minutes. I think I did well and I hope to hear from them this week. If I don't hear something by Tuesday, I might send an e-mail off to my contact in their HR department.
I'm still at the comic shop. Actually, I'm the Last Employee at the comic shop. The manager is working at the local game store, heading up their e-bay room. Coworker Kristen gave her notice to focus on art commissions. I told the owner I'd stay and finish out the store.
It's been . . . interesting. I thought I'd be bored, but I'm too busy to be bored. Also, I'm getting a bit of extra money, so that's nice.
Not much else to report on. I haven't written anything in ages.
Well, nothing printable.
Not even pr0n.
It's been about a year since I published anything, although I blog at least once a week.
Maybe a more structured job will give me impetus to get my shit together and take care of business.
Only time will tell.
The owner decided to hire someone with more managerial experience. Eh. No hard feelings.
To be perfectly honest, I didn't really want to work there.
Sure, it would have been great to work in a comic shop, but I wasn't thrilled at the idea of working in a place that sells bongs. You can call them 'glass' or 'art' all you want, but we all know that you're selling bongs. And I . . . am too straight edged to work in such a place, I think.
So, that didn't happen.
I did have an interview at this insurance place last Monday. I think it went well. I was interviewed by two of the managers at their Customer Service Center. We spoke for about 40 minutes. I think I did well and I hope to hear from them this week. If I don't hear something by Tuesday, I might send an e-mail off to my contact in their HR department.
I'm still at the comic shop. Actually, I'm the Last Employee at the comic shop. The manager is working at the local game store, heading up their e-bay room. Coworker Kristen gave her notice to focus on art commissions. I told the owner I'd stay and finish out the store.
It's been . . . interesting. I thought I'd be bored, but I'm too busy to be bored. Also, I'm getting a bit of extra money, so that's nice.
Not much else to report on. I haven't written anything in ages.
Well, nothing printable.
Not even pr0n.
It's been about a year since I published anything, although I blog at least once a week.
Maybe a more structured job will give me impetus to get my shit together and take care of business.
Only time will tell.
Where or where does the time go?
Sep. 3rd, 2013 11:43 pmHoly shit. Has it really been a month since my last post here? Good lord!
Well, let's see what's been going on.
The landlords both got jobs. Misses went to Chicago with the kids a couple of weeks ago and Mister is leaving next week. I am driving him to the airport. I am also going to be renting out rooms in the house as long as I'm here. How long that will be? I don't know.
Work has been good. I'm still enjoying working in the shop, although I need to get better shoes. My feet are killing me. Some people have recommended I get some NewBalance shoes, while others pimp Birkenstocks. Any opinions? Hit me up in comments.
Writing? Eh. It hasn't really been happening. I like to say it's job exhaustion but the fact is I've written a lot of false starts and none of them have gone anywhere. Still, I'm plugging away.
Speaking of the job, I'm going to be giving a talk on comics and literacy at a local library later this month. It's an all ages talk, and I need to check with the librarian handling the matter, but I'm quite looking forward to doing it. That said, if anyone has any ideas re this subject I'm more than open to suggestions.
Househunting continues to be frustrating. I have expanded my search to include condos and townhouses, but, so far, no luck. The market here is really sucky, at least in my price range.
So, there we have it. A month caught up in less than five minutes. Now I"m going to hit the flist and catch up with what everyone else has been up to. - xoxo Mel
Well, let's see what's been going on.
The landlords both got jobs. Misses went to Chicago with the kids a couple of weeks ago and Mister is leaving next week. I am driving him to the airport. I am also going to be renting out rooms in the house as long as I'm here. How long that will be? I don't know.
Work has been good. I'm still enjoying working in the shop, although I need to get better shoes. My feet are killing me. Some people have recommended I get some NewBalance shoes, while others pimp Birkenstocks. Any opinions? Hit me up in comments.
Writing? Eh. It hasn't really been happening. I like to say it's job exhaustion but the fact is I've written a lot of false starts and none of them have gone anywhere. Still, I'm plugging away.
Speaking of the job, I'm going to be giving a talk on comics and literacy at a local library later this month. It's an all ages talk, and I need to check with the librarian handling the matter, but I'm quite looking forward to doing it. That said, if anyone has any ideas re this subject I'm more than open to suggestions.
Househunting continues to be frustrating. I have expanded my search to include condos and townhouses, but, so far, no luck. The market here is really sucky, at least in my price range.
So, there we have it. A month caught up in less than five minutes. Now I"m going to hit the flist and catch up with what everyone else has been up to. - xoxo Mel
This weekend I drove up to the mountains to spend some time with an old friend, Anna. She’s in a band and they’re heading west, stopping off at cities along I-40 as they trek toward Los Angeles.
It was nice to see Anna again. The last time I saw her, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t see her again. I had resigned myself to that, so when I got her e-mail telling me that the band would be in Cherokee for the weekend and would I like to come up? I was caught off guard.
Still, I figured what the heck? Hopped in the car Saturday and drove to the mountains.
I thought the band was playing a gig in Cherokee, but it turned out they were just enjoying a final, lazy weekend before they start heading across the country. We got to hang out, go to dinner, lose some money in the casino.
At one point, there may or may not have been a game of strip poker. I will never say for certain.
I was invited to stay the night, but decided against it.
When I left Cherokee that evening, there was a haunted moon in the sky and an invitation buzzing in my ear.
A year ago I’d driving across the country along I-40. Earlier that evening I’d told the ladies some of my experiences.
They asked if I’d be interested in heading cross-country with them. Basically, I’d be a roadie, helping set up at gigs and taking a turn driving the van.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t tempted.
As I drove home that evening, my feet itched. I’ve got a mild case of the wanderlust and the thought of traveling cross-country again is appealing. Lately, I’ve been thinking how much I’d like to return to San Simeon, revisit Solvang and the Painted Desert.
There were sights I missed the first time round that I could catch this time. The Winchester House. The London Bridge in Lake Havisu City. Las Vegas.
However, I knew as soon as I got behind the wheel of my car and drove out of Cherokee, that I wouldn’t be taking the offer. It would have been a lot of fun traveling along I-40 with the band. We got on like a house on fire.
But I want to do what I want to do and, this month, that means returning to work on the Sequel. That story has been lying, patient and still, in the back of my mind a long time and now it’s starting to get restless. It wants attention and I want to give it to it.
So, I declined the offer to live a rock-n-roll lifestyle, to travel cross-country in a van with four very talented and very sexy ladies, setting up amps and living off truck stop food. Instead, I’m going to focus on finishing the Sequel and getting The Other Book out there for the public.
We all have to make choices.
This is mine.
I don’t regret it.
Much.
It was nice to see Anna again. The last time I saw her, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t see her again. I had resigned myself to that, so when I got her e-mail telling me that the band would be in Cherokee for the weekend and would I like to come up? I was caught off guard.
Still, I figured what the heck? Hopped in the car Saturday and drove to the mountains.
I thought the band was playing a gig in Cherokee, but it turned out they were just enjoying a final, lazy weekend before they start heading across the country. We got to hang out, go to dinner, lose some money in the casino.
At one point, there may or may not have been a game of strip poker. I will never say for certain.
I was invited to stay the night, but decided against it.
When I left Cherokee that evening, there was a haunted moon in the sky and an invitation buzzing in my ear.
A year ago I’d driving across the country along I-40. Earlier that evening I’d told the ladies some of my experiences.
They asked if I’d be interested in heading cross-country with them. Basically, I’d be a roadie, helping set up at gigs and taking a turn driving the van.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t tempted.
As I drove home that evening, my feet itched. I’ve got a mild case of the wanderlust and the thought of traveling cross-country again is appealing. Lately, I’ve been thinking how much I’d like to return to San Simeon, revisit Solvang and the Painted Desert.
There were sights I missed the first time round that I could catch this time. The Winchester House. The London Bridge in Lake Havisu City. Las Vegas.
However, I knew as soon as I got behind the wheel of my car and drove out of Cherokee, that I wouldn’t be taking the offer. It would have been a lot of fun traveling along I-40 with the band. We got on like a house on fire.
But I want to do what I want to do and, this month, that means returning to work on the Sequel. That story has been lying, patient and still, in the back of my mind a long time and now it’s starting to get restless. It wants attention and I want to give it to it.
So, I declined the offer to live a rock-n-roll lifestyle, to travel cross-country in a van with four very talented and very sexy ladies, setting up amps and living off truck stop food. Instead, I’m going to focus on finishing the Sequel and getting The Other Book out there for the public.
We all have to make choices.
This is mine.
I don’t regret it.
Much.
The Story That Ate My Brain!
Nov. 10th, 2012 06:48 pmSo, I've finished my second novel, a fantasy with a rather cumbersome title.
Actually, I finished it a few days ago and have been working on edits and read-throughs.
I am babying the fuck out of this one, people.
Why?
Because it was a holy terror to finish.
Normally, when I write, it just flows. But this one? This one came in fits and starts, shuddering forward and then lumbering to a stop. There were times when I wanted to delete the file. There were other times when I wanted to pick up my laptop and hurl it out the window.
Even as I was writing it, the story squirmed and twisted. Nothing new there, that happens with everything that I write, but this time? This time it just felt malicious, like the story didn't want to be finished.
Initially, this story was my rest piece, my alternative to The Sequel. I often referred to it as The Other Story. Soon, though, it became the Only Story. I couldn't get The Sequel into gear because this story was devouring my brain.
Writing this thing became less an act of creation and more a contest of endurance, a test of will. Overall, it was a bloody pain in the ass.
You know I'm having problems when I talk about the details of a story. I never talk about what I'm writing on except in the vaguest terms. But the other week, while visiting my Mom, I sat down and expressed my frustration with the story. She asked what it was about, which led me to sit in her living room and just sit there and tell her the entire fucking story. I never do that, but this story is the first one I've written that has made me seriously doubt myself.
However, it's done now. Finished. I've done two read-throughs and finished my edit. This Monday, I submit it to my new Editrix, and while she's going over it, I shall be considering cover art.
God willing, I'll have the damned thing online at Amazon before the Xmas season.
Wish me luck. - MEL
Actually, I finished it a few days ago and have been working on edits and read-throughs.
I am babying the fuck out of this one, people.
Why?
Because it was a holy terror to finish.
Normally, when I write, it just flows. But this one? This one came in fits and starts, shuddering forward and then lumbering to a stop. There were times when I wanted to delete the file. There were other times when I wanted to pick up my laptop and hurl it out the window.
Even as I was writing it, the story squirmed and twisted. Nothing new there, that happens with everything that I write, but this time? This time it just felt malicious, like the story didn't want to be finished.
Initially, this story was my rest piece, my alternative to The Sequel. I often referred to it as The Other Story. Soon, though, it became the Only Story. I couldn't get The Sequel into gear because this story was devouring my brain.
Writing this thing became less an act of creation and more a contest of endurance, a test of will. Overall, it was a bloody pain in the ass.
You know I'm having problems when I talk about the details of a story. I never talk about what I'm writing on except in the vaguest terms. But the other week, while visiting my Mom, I sat down and expressed my frustration with the story. She asked what it was about, which led me to sit in her living room and just sit there and tell her the entire fucking story. I never do that, but this story is the first one I've written that has made me seriously doubt myself.
However, it's done now. Finished. I've done two read-throughs and finished my edit. This Monday, I submit it to my new Editrix, and while she's going over it, I shall be considering cover art.
God willing, I'll have the damned thing online at Amazon before the Xmas season.
Wish me luck. - MEL
( Who's Who? )
( What's what? )
When you write a crossover fic like Fringes:One of Those Days, cannon takes a beating. The fic is set roughly in the first season of Fringe, before the discovery of the other universe and before Peter and Olivia began their relationship. That explains why Peter is so flirty with Uhura.
Uhura, as noted above, is from Star Trek: The Original Series. Not NuTrek. How did she become one of the Doctor's companions? Her backstory is sort of tragic. When the Star Trek timeline was jiggered by Nero & Spock, the F:OTD Uhura was shook loose from time and discovered by the Doctor. She is basically a living, breathing paradox.
Tony Newman's history is just as tragic. At the end of The Time Tunnel, Newman and his friend, Doug Phillips, were stranded on the S.S. Titanic, at the same time and place of their first jaunt using the Time Tunnel. The two became trapped in a closed temporal loop. Trapped on the doomed ship, untouched by time, Newman spent forty years subjectively working out complex multidimensional equations in his head to find a way out. His efforts attracted the attention of the Doctor who rescued him. The fate of Doug Phillips remains unknown, but Tony is a bit 'fragile' in F:OTD, suffering from bouts of severe agoraphobia. I imagine he's not too fond of cruises either.
UNIT, in F:OTD, has become the dominant international organization responding to extragovernmental threats and general wierdness. As such they have absorbed a number of other organizations into themselves, including U.N.C.L.E. This explains how Napoleon Solo is working for UNIT as head of their North American Division.
Speaking of Napoleon Solo, in F:OTD, he is older and more battered. His history is also a bit more colorful, as he and the Doctor know each other and seem to have a cordial relationship of sorts.
I took the biggest liberties, I feel, with Professor Arturo. In Sliders, Arturo becomes one of the quartet of adventurers wandering from one parallel Earth to another. In F:OTD, that didn't happen. In his unrevealed backstory, our Arturo investigated the disappearance of Quinn Malory and discovered Malory's notes on sliding. When Malory never reappeared, Arturo took the notes and cobbled together his machine, trying to access other dimensions. Unfortunately, things went a bit pear-shaped for the professor.
Which leads us to the question of the breach. Was it a result of Arturo not quite understanding Malory's notes? Or, was it caused by some outside influence? The Other Universe, perhaps, from Fringe? Maybe the Kromaggs from Sliders were involved? Could it have been one of the Doctor's enemies? Perhaps it was the chaos-mage, Ethan Raynes, working under the auspices of the Black Guardian? Perhaps the Lovecraftian horrors from the Dungeon Dimensions were trying to break out?
The world may never know.
FRINGES: ONE OF THOSE DAYS
Olivia Dunham wasn't sure what to make of the strange man who had arrived at the scene of the latest incident. His credentials were impeccable, although not even Broyles had been able to ferret out any details regarding his background. She wasn't surprised; she'd heard odd things about UNIT even before she joined the Fringe Division. They were a closemouthed group, operating under the umbrella of the United Nations Security Council, but no one was quite certain what they did. That alone said a lot about this peculiar Doctor John Smith.
"I'm UNIT's scientific adviser," he'd said, in reply to Olivia's oblique queries. Then he had flashed her an enormous smile and proffered a bag of treats. "Care for a jelly baby?"
Of course, the Doctor and Walter got along like a house on fire. Both men were eccentric and both were, Olivia was convinced, geniuses. She'd walked into the lab and found them sipping milkshakes over the desiccated corpse.
"Agent Dunham!" enthused the Doctor. He flashed that enormous grin at her. "You'll be pleased to know this incident isn't a Fringe incident!"
Olivia eyed the corpse. "Really?"
"Oh yes," said the Doctor. "I'm quite certain." He gestured at the remains. "This is something quite different."
"Really?" Olivia deadpanned. "If this isn't a fringe incident, Doctor, then what is it?"
"Isn't it obvious?" said the Doctor. His wide smile lost some of its clownish sparkle, becoming something a little more feral.
Olivia felt a headache coming on. "Doctor, if you could. . . ."
Walter spoke, with a gleam in his eye. "It's an alien, Olivia."
She fought the urge to sigh. It was going to be one of those days.
( Read more... )